Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
A knock at the door startled Mabel as she was setting the table for dinner, and she straightened, quickly heading to the front of the house. A young woman was standing outside with a paper bag in her hand, holding it out with a smile on her face.
“Delivery from Maplewood Tavern?”
“Yes, thank you!” Mabel took the bag, exchanging it for a ten-dollar bill that she pressed into the woman’s palm for a tip.
She closed the door quickly before too much of the cold could get in, carrying the bag back to the kitchen to finish setting up for dinner.
Vanessa would be over soon, and she wanted to have everything just right.
She wished she could make a home-cooked meal for her.
There were plenty of favorites she’d mastered over the years that she would have whipped up if she could.
A roast chicken with lemon and onions maybe, and mashed potatoes for a side with green beans canned from the garden in the summer and crusty bread.
Or a ham, sage, and winter squash casserole.
Her lamb stew was always a hit with anyone who came over for wintry dinners too.
But with her wrist the way it was, there was no way she was going to be able to make a full dinner.
She’d mostly been relying on takeout for herself since she’d sprained it, or easy things to make like sandwiches, or soup, or mac & cheese.
But she wanted to serve something better than that for her granddaughter.
So she’d ordered the meatloaf special from the tavern for the evening, complete with sides of garlic mashed potatoes and baked squash.
She had a nice bottle of pinot noir too, and she uncorked it, pouring a glass for each of them as she put out the china plates hand painted with sunflowers that Vanessa had always loved as a child.
As she set the table, she wondered if Vanessa would remember them.
She didn’t seem to remember much about her life in Fir Tree Grove.
Mabel wasn’t even sure if she wanted to.
But she was determined to try to remind Vanessa, in the short amount of time she had, the things about the place that she’d once loved as a child.
Maybe then, Vanessa would come back more than once every twenty years or so to visit.
There was another knock at the door, lighter this time, and Mabel was fairly sure it was her granddaughter.
“Come in!” she called out, putting the takeout in the center of the table and trying to arrange it in a way that looked nice.
She poked her head out of the kitchen just in time to see Vanessa standing in the entryway, taking off her high-heeled boots and that coat that didn’t look like it could actually keep anyone warm.
“It smells wonderful,” Vanessa said as she walked in. She was wearing a soft-looking dove-gray sweater and a pair of dark jeans, her auburn hair tossed up in a messy bun on top of her head. “Is that meatloaf?”
“It is,” Mabel confirmed, bringing the glasses of wine to the table along with a serving spoon. “Maplewood has some of the best meatloaf you’ve ever had in your life. Mashed potatoes too.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever had meatloaf before,” Vanessa said, laughing, and Mabel clicked her tongue against her teeth.
“You loved it when you were little. I used to make it all the time. Would have made it, or something else, if this darn wrist wasn’t bothering me so badly.”
“Did I?” Vanessa sat down, reaching for the serving spoon. “I don’t remember.”
She spooned up a piece of the meatloaf and the sides onto Mabel’s plate for her first, which Mabel thought was touching.
It was clear that her granddaughter was worried about her, even if she wasn’t willing to stay longer than a few days.
She was doing her best to help out where she could, while she was actually in town.
Vanessa served up her own meal as well, taking a sip of the wine as she glanced around the kitchen, taking in the breakfast nook and the Christmas decor, the fifties-style range stove and the freshly painted cream-colored walls.
Mabel had spruced up her kitchen earlier in the year, and she was proud of it.
“This is very cozy,” Vanessa said, taking a sip of her wine. “That nook looks like a nice place to have coffee in the morning.”
“It is,” Mabel said with a smile. “I love it.”
Vanessa’s gaze snagged on a box in the corner, filled with goody bags made of cellophane printed with snowmen and peppermints, twisted with red ties at the top. “What are those?” she asked curiously, and Mabel followed her gaze.
“Oh, those are for the Santa and Mrs. Claus event that I host at the toy shop every year,” she explained.
“It’s a whole event. The entire town usually shows up for it, plus any tourists that are staying at Hearthside.
Christopher advertises for it and everything.
We have couple’s games, raffles, fun activities for the kids, and of course, a spot set up for them to get pictures with Santa and Mrs. Claus. ”
“That sounds like a lot of fun,” Vanessa said, although her tone wasn’t quite as convincing as Mabel thought she wanted it to be.
Mabel imagined that Vanessa would probably find it overwhelmingly Christmas-y, although who knew?
She might surprise them both. She’d done wonderfully at the toy shop earlier once she’d gotten into a rhythm, even admitting to Mabel at one point that it was fun to see how much the adults and children alike loved browsing through the store.
“It is,” Mabel confirmed. “It’s a real highlight of the season. But with my wrist being hurt the way it is, and with the doctor telling me I need to rest it more—” she let out a sigh. “I might have to cancel this year. I’m not sure how on earth I’m going to manage.”
She’d tried very hard not to make Vanessa feel pressured into staying longer.
She doubted guilt-tripping her granddaughter would work anyway.
But she still put a little bit of emphasis on the last sentence, just in case Vanessa might catch the hint that she really wanted her to stay longer in town.
And not only for the help—she wanted more time with her granddaughter.
The town was full of friends so close that they felt like family, but Mabel hadn’t realized just how much she missed having actual family near until Vanessa had come to visit.
“Who plays Santa and Mrs. Claus?” Vanessa asked curiously, and Mabel grinned.
“I’m Mrs. Claus. And George Lowery always plays Santa. He owns the Christmas tree farm in town.” Mabel gestured in the general direction. “We’ve been friends for—gosh, I don’t even know how many years. Longer than I want to count.”
“Good friends?” Vanessa looked at her curiously, with a hint of humor in her eyes that Mabel knew all too well, from all the times that folks in town had asked exactly that question with exactly that gleam of mischief.
“Good friends,” she said, with a slight emphasis on the second word. “We’ve got a bit of a friendly feud going between us, to be honest. We play pranks on each other.”
“Pranks?” Vanessa’s eyebrows shot up, as if she were thoroughly startled to hear that two of the elderly members of Fir Tree Grove were engaging in pranks. “How on earth did that start?”
“Honestly? I don’t remember.” Mabel chuckled. “I remember some of the ones he’s pulled off though. Once he swapped out my snowflake garland this time of year for a whole garland of chicken and rooster lights.”
Vanessa’s eyebrows somehow rose even higher. “That doesn’t sound all that bad,” she ventured, and Mabel laughed.
“I hate chickens,” she said. “I think they’re no end of annoying. And roosters are mean. I can’t stand any of them, and George knows it.”
Vanessa laughed out loud at that, setting her fork down abruptly, and Mabel joined in too, enjoying the moment. Her wrist twinged as she reached for her wine glass, and she sighed, reminded of how the conversation started.
“I’m going to need to tell him that I might not be able to be Mrs. Claus this year,” she said, disappointment clear in her voice. “But—”
Vanessa’s phone, which was sitting next to her plate, started to go off just then, interrupting her.
“Oh, no.” Vanessa glanced at the screen. “It’s Russell. My boss. I have to take this. Sorry.”
She shot Mabel an apologetic look, grabbing the phone and getting up quickly from the table, hurrying out to the living room.
Mabel sighed, a worried frown pinching her forehead.
It wasn’t good to be so tied to work all of the time.
She hadn’t seen Vanessa turn it off, even once, since she’d been in Fir Tree Grove.
And she didn’t understand how it was acceptable for her boss—this Russell fellow—to call her at all hours demanding she pick up and answer his questions either.
It was well past the time that anyone should be off work and enjoying some relaxation.
There was another knock at the door, this one heavier, and Mabel frowned again.
She had no idea who would be dropping by, but it wasn’t all that unusual.
In a town like this, sometimes neighbors just popped by to say hello.
But since everyone in town knew her granddaughter was visiting, she was surprised that anyone would.
She got up, noticing that Vanessa must have slipped into one of the side rooms to finish her call. She opened the front door, to see George standing on her front step.
“George!” Her eyes widened. “What are you doing here?”
“Brought you something,” George said gruffly, hoisting a small basket that Mabel just realized he was holding.
“Heard you hurt your wrist. So I put together a little care package for you.” He held it out toward her.
“There’s one of those hot wraps you can wrap around it and just leave, some of those truffles you like from Imogen’s place, and a few packets of that special chamomile blend they sell at the bookstore.
Oh, and while I was there, I asked, and Christy said you had a few books on a wish list there. So I grabbed you one of them.”
“Oh, that’s so thoughtful.” Mabel’s cheeks dusted with pink as she took the basket out of George’s hands. “It’s so nice of you to stop by too.”
She was happy to see him. She hadn’t talked to him in a few days, and it was nice to have someone drop in and be worried about her. She knew plenty of her friends in town were, but everyone was busy with the holidays, and she hadn’t had time to see many people.
“Come on in,” she added, holding the door open a bit wider, and George stepped into the cottage, kicking the snow off his boots before he did.
She set the basket down on the coffee table before he could mention something about straining her wrist holding it, and smiled at him.
“This really was such a nice surprise,” she said. “Thank you so much.”
He smiled at her from behind his beard. “You just take care of yourself, okay? Don’t put too much trouble on that wrist until it heals.”
“I’m doing my best,” she assured him. “My granddaughter helped me out today, while she’s here in town. And once she’s gone back to San Francisco, I’ll figure something else out.”
“How did you hurt it anyway?” George peered at the brace, and Mabel felt a small leap of alarm.
“Oh, you know.” She waved her good hand carelessly. “I was straining to reach something on a top shelf at the store, and slipped. Just a little accident.”
She caught sight of Vanessa coming back into the living room just then, as did George. He nodded to Vanessa, and smiled once more at Mabel.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” he said, nodding toward them both. “Just wanted to drop that off. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” Mabel returned cheerfully, as George headed back out the front door to where his truck was parked in the driveway.
“You should probably get a taller ladder,” Vanessa commented, and Mabel frowned.
“What?”
“A taller ladder for the shop,” Vanessa repeated. “So you don’t hurt your wrist again.”
“Oh.” Mabel nodded quickly. “My wrist. Yes, I’ll definitely think about that. That’s a good idea.” She patted Vanessa’s hand, gesturing back toward the kitchen. “Let’s go finish our dinner.”
That was all she planned to say about how, exactly, her wrist had ended up getting sprained.